Caroline Gates

What has become of my unshed tears

Do they remain within, fossilized and mute?

I claw futilely at my wrists wishing that I could

Pluck them free as if a quill or a splinter

Yet they remain ripping holes in all my dreams


There is loneliness in futility

In the relentless casting of soiled dress

I’ve been too long a daughter

What emergency now remains

That I should be obliged to exit?

I can assure myself of a pulse

And yet life still does not carry on

For I have not been trained in life

Only in the alternate, survival 


I also wrote a poem at Curious Scribbles today and another group of short poems I was going to post but then I wrote this and decided to go with this